Third Strike, You're Dead
by heystella
Summary: A mobster's sweetheart should be prepared to expect nothing. Kurtbastian 1920s AU.


**Notes:** So I've been posting this 1920s AU series on Tumblr. I thought I'd post it here as well.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG13ish  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> racial slurs and language, drinking and smoking in accordance to the time period  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A mobster's sweetheart should be prepared to expect nothing. Kurtbastian 1920s AU.

* * *

><p>"Hey, doll."<p>

Only one person who was foolish enough to call him that - thinking back, why was he still allowed in this joint? Oh yeah, he practically had clams overflowing his pockets, made for some generous tips. Kurt sighed, squared his shoulders and turned around. "What'll it be, Sebastian?"

"Whiskey - do I ever get anything else?"

Kurt shook his head and took a bottle from the shelf, pouring the liquor neat in the glass.

"Thanks," Sebastian pressed five dollars into Kurt's hand. "So who's the main act for tonight?"

"Some jazz band from New Orleans - they call themselves the New Directions."

"Yeah, with that kike for a singer?"

Kurt threw the cleaning rag right in Sebastian's face. "You always have to talk like that? Rachel's a sweet girl." Sweet and also a little screwy, but he wasn't about to say that.

"You talked to her?"

"A bit." It was true. They'd immediately made a connection upon their meeting this afternoon, when she heard his speaking voice, dragged him over to the piano and insisted he play and sing with her. Lucky for her, he'd been playing since he was young.

"And how _are _you doing, Kurt? Really."

If it wasn't the serious tone of voice that did him in, it was the fact that Sebastian called him by his given name - not doll or baby or even Porcelain, as he was known around here - just Kurt. He turned and eyed Sebastian.

He sat there with the usual smirk on his face, but his eyes were questioning. He really did want to know.

Kurt did his best to keep his stare, but after several moments he looked away, uncomfortable with Sebastian's rare earnesty. "I'm… fine, Seb. Don't worry about me." He made himself busy with rearranging the bottles on the shelf.

"What about Blaine Anderson? He still come around here?"

"Sometimes."

"You still his plaything?"

Kurt curled his fingers around a bottle of whiskey, ready to use it on Sebastian if he needed to. "I am no one's plaything." He glared at the empty glass in Sebastian's hand. "You're done, right? Now get out of my bar."

"You're forgetting who's got the dough in this little relational," Sebastian waved a roll of green in front of Kurt's face.

He rolled his eyes and took the bills. "Another?"

"Absolutely."

He could feel Sebastian's eyes on him, watching his every move. It was unnerving. He almost dropped the glass as he set it back down. "And stop talking like that. People are going to start thinking you're my beau."

"Ain't that a thought," Sebastian grinned before knocking back some of the liquor. He reached into his pocket for his silver case and stuck a cigarette between his lips. "Better me than Anderson."

Kurt scraped a match to light and held the flame to the end of the cigarette. "What's your problem with Blaine anyway?"

Sebastian didn't answer right away. He took a few long drags, tapping the ashes into the glass tray. Then he shrugged. "He's bad news."

Kurt raised a well-trimmed eyebrow. "That all? Maybe you didn't notice, but I work in a place where giggle water's the main course - all while trying not to get pinched by the feds. You've got to give me more than 'bad news.'"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "Your cousin. How's he doing?"

"Fine."

"This time tomorrow, he won't be."

Uh oh. "Why?"

"Word on the street's that Hudson's got a huge debt that was supposed to be repaid ages ago. Anderson's impatient. So…" Sebastian held up his index finger and thumb to his head and his lips rounded, miming the sound of a gun shot.

Kurt swallowed thickly and looked away. "He… he wouldn't."

"Why wouldn't he? He barely cares about you, why would he care about your goof of a cousin? Just level with me, Kurt. How much do you actually know about Blaine Anderson?"

He tried to come up with an argument but Sebastian was right. He didn't know Blaine Anderson, not really. He didn't know about his family, interests, where he grew up. Nothing. He just knew that he was a looker, he was filthy rich, and he did amazing things with that kisser. He also knew that he just came down the stairs and -

Shit.

"He's coming," Kurt squeaked.

"And that's my cue. Don't want him to put a hit on me for flirting up his fella." Sebastian put the cigarette butt in the tray and stood quickly. He buttoned his coat and picked up his hat, tipping it in Kurt's direction. "Good night, Porcelain."

"Wait - Seb!" Kurt hissed, but Sebastian was already several paces away.

Then he turned around and shouted over the noise - but not loud enough for Blaine to hear, "I'll be by the billiard table!"

And then he ducked down, lost in the crowd of people, and Kurt swore loudly. What a liar. Sebastian was probably sneaking out of the place already.

But what if what he said earlier was true? Did Blaine really want Finn killed? Finn was as good as a brother to Kurt, but he'd always had problems with money. It did seem likely, the more he thought about it…

Only one way to find out.

Blaine smiled warmly at Kurt when he came to the table. "Sweetheart, how you doing?" He kissed Kurt on the mouth and pressed him to his side.

"Fine," Kurt answered, forcing a smile. He set down a whole bottle of whiskey and a case of cigars.

"You don't look fine. What's eating you?"

He took a deep breath and looked above Blaine's head, across the room to the billiard table - and then he looked again. Sebastian was leaning against the wall, smoking a fresh cigarette. Watching them.

"Baby?"

"Nothing," Kurt answered finally, eyes still locked on Sebastian. "Nothing at all."


End file.
